


Side Piece

by madaminferno



Series: Seeing Eye to Eye [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Barebacking, Bonding, Casual Sex, F/M, Feels, Firsts, Orgasm, Sexual Content, Smut, a good respectful fuck, literally just an excuse to write smut basically, not quite shakarian but getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madaminferno/pseuds/madaminferno
Summary: Shepard gets a message from Chellick;  there's nothing wrong with a drink or two with a charming alien, right?  (I have zero excuse.)





	Side Piece

**Author's Note:**

> If you just wanna skip straight to the pron -- no hard feelings (you dirty sinner. I love you) -- ctrl+f for "segue."

_Commander,_

 

_I thought you'd like to know Jenna’s reassignment is official.  She's expressed interest in further work with CSEC, but I'll keep an eye on her;  she'll have a good team to keep her safe._

 

_This could have gone sideways, but I'm impressed with the way you handled it.  I've got a few cases that could do with an outside perspective.  Drinks on the Citadel next time you're in the area?_

 

_-Chellick_

 

Shepard closed her omnitool and reclined, her thoughts swirling as she stared at the ceiling.  Their investigation could only progress so fast;  the Normandy was scheduled for maintenance soon, and leads on Saren were tenuous at best.  She needed to pick up dextro supplies and food scrubbers anyways…   _We could squeeze in some shore leave.  God knows we need it._  

 

The crew, of course, was _highly supportive_ of a break, and soon the Commander found the decision made for her.  She wouldn't fault them for it -- she was close enough to issuing the order herself -- but she did need to insist on a few more missions, first.  They _were_ under a deadline, even if they didn't yet know the goal.  

 

So by the time Shepard managed to send off a short reply, she was scorched, sore, and beyond ready for some R&R, and drinks with a handsome officer sounded … nice.  

 

_Chellick,_

 

_We've just docked at the Citadel.  Tell me that offer's still open?  Noveria was a classified hell._

 

_-Shep_

 

Absorbed in correcting typos as she strode through the CIC, she barely avoided plowing straight into their own resident CSEC assignee.  “Ah, I apologize, Garrus.  Was there something I could do for you?”  

 

His mandibles worked as he didn't reply right away, and she raised an eyebrow.  That only seemed to confuse him more.  “Not particularly, Commander.  Just a bit of a personal matter, whenever you have time.”  

 

“I always make time for my crew.”  She waved for him to follow her and they made their way to the stairs.  “What’s on your mind?”  

 

“It's about that rogue doctor we were talking about, Dr. Saleon.  I'm pretty sure I've narrowed it down to a system.  No coordinates, yet, but I'm close.”  His steps faltered a bit, though his long strides more than kept pace.  “I know Saren should be our top priority, but…”  

 

The Commander nodded. “True, but we can't take him down by riding his ass the whole way;  the investigation alone is going to take us all over.  There's no reason we can't make side trips in the meantime.”  

 

“Still, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.  Saleon _needs_ to be taken down.  I don't know if it'll happen if we don't.”  

 

“Agreed.  We'll get him;  I promise.  You just get me those coordinates when you have them, and we'll go.”  The pair halted outside the women's room on the crew deck, and Garrus shifted his weight a bit, mandibles clicking.  “Was there something else?  I'm in no rush, I just need to wash off the bug goop.”

 

Her armor _was_ a bit… of a biohazard, maybe.  “Ah, no, Commander.  If I may ask:  any plans for your leave?”  

 

“A couple errands, then drinks with Chellick.”  His brow plates rose in quick surprise, but she caught it as she moved to unclip her sticky gauntlets and shot him a wry smile.  “You disapprove?”

 

“Ah, no.  I wouldn't -- no.  He's … a good guy.”  He coughed into a fist, awkwardly doing his best to hide the discomfort.  

 

“Speak freely, Officer Vakarian.  I don't expect it to be more than business, for what it's worth.”   _He's adorable when he's flustered.  Is… his neck blushing?  That's new._  

 

“Oh, I -- It's nothing, Commander, I just -- _Chellick_?”  he finished weakly, and she laughed outright.  

 

“It was his idea.  First time I've done something social in... god, I don't know how long.”  She peeled the chestplate from herself with a faint, disgusted noise, holding it by two fingers in each hand.  “Eugh, rachni juice.”  It crashed to the washroom floor and she glanced at him over her shoulder.  “Why?  Is there anything I should know?”

 

Vakarian wasn't sure that conversations in the crew showers -- fully-clothed and with the door open, mind -- were quite a human _custom_ , but he couldn't bring himself to cross the threshold without an invitation regardless of how casually the Commander carried on.  “No, ma’am, he's just very… ah, _turian_.”  

 

Her omnitool pinged.  Confirmation, likely;  it could wait a moment.  “Is that an issue, Officer?”  

 

“No, ma’am.”  

 

 _Definitely blushing._ Her smile widened, tone light to reassure him she wasn't taking it personally.  “Well, I'll keep that in mind.”  Shepard's fingers worked the clasps on her greaves, teal ceramic smeared in chartreuse, alien gore and falling to the floor in heaps.  “Be honest, Garrus:  is it the personal side of your commanding officer that intimidates you, or the interspecies mingling?”  

 

With a sigh, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the frame.  “Oh, the _mingling_ is fine, it's _Chellick_ that came out of nowhere.  He's generally a very traditional guy, but you must have made an impression.”  He cast her an appraising look as her back was turned;  nothing terribly out-there, he figured, and it's not like the Commander's off-duty plans were his business.  Besides, the man was harmless.   _To each her own, I suppose._  “I might run some errands myself.  I could probably upgrade something while we're here.”  

 

“Mm.  Y’know, I think the suspension on the Mako might need a little … _calibrating._ ”  Shepard snorted and toed off her boots as he actually seemed to mull it over.  

 

“You _have_ been driving it rather enthusiastically _\--_ straight up mountains, directly into ravines, overtaxing the thrusters...”  

 

“Look, I won't apologize for finding fun where I can.  That thing is fantastic stress relief.  It's not my fault turians don't have rollercoasters.”  She paused as she reached for the hem of her shirt, eyebrow raised.  “Or bumper cars.  Staying?”

 

Garrus shook his head, pushing away from the wall.  “Ah, no. Have a good time, Commander.”  

 

“Thanks, Garrus.  Don't work the whole leave away, okay?”  With one hand she activated the door button as she yanked the shirt hem over her head with the other.   His next comment promptly dissipated as the door slid shut, obscuring his direct, brief glimpse of the Commander’s smooth, naked back.

 

He blinked at the sudden barrier, rolled a shoulder anxiously.   _The freckles go all the way down.  Huh._  Garrus shook it off and wandered to the mess in search of edible rations.  

 

 _Shepard_ ,

 

_Welcome back.  I'm sure I won't get many details from you, but if my intel is correct, Noveria was hell indeed.  You deserve a break._

 

_How about we make a night of it?  I have reservations at Ruth's on the Presidium for 2100 that I was going to give away, but it has an extensive menu for either of us and an enjoyable drink selection.  Interested?_

 

_-C_

 

Under the hot spray, Shepard glanced at the clock in the corner of the omnitool screen;  plenty of time to look nice.  And how long had it been since she _could_ get dressed up?  Maybe flirt a little, have a good time?  Ruth's was expensive as all get-out, but she'd wanted to try their steak since she'd first discovered the intergalactic equivalent of some of the _swankiest_ restaurants back home.

 

 _Chell_ ,

 

_Points for taste, I'll give you that.  I'll be ready by 2030.  Your skycar or mine?  
_

 

_-M_

 

Garrus was coming in the airlock as she was on her way out of the Normandy, and Shepard offered him a smile as she finished fiddling with an earring.  “Well?  Any luck?”  

 

The officer stopped and indicated the shopping bag in one hand.  “Nothing great, but a couple minor hardware updates to hold us over.  We'll have _better_ luck somewhere with a little less… regulation.”  Blue eyes roamed her off-duty outfit, and he offered her a quick subhum of approval before he realized she wouldn't hear it.  “You, ah…  you look good, Commander.”  

 

She spun on a strapped heel for his benefit, hands on her hips.  “Do I have the Vakarian stamp of approval?  He _is_ very turian, of course, but we're going to Ruth’s.”  

 

“ _Ruth’s?_  Damn.”  Her dress was a simple black sheath, form-fitting through the hips but loose and soft about her knees, and the matching black heels did _wonderful_ things for her legs, but that _waist_... “You--”  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “Definitely fit for Ruth’s.  Very stylish.”  

 

Garrus was rewarded with a brilliant, happy flash of her teeth, and embarrassment crept up his neck.  The Commander tossed a swathe of gray silk over her shoulders and she draped it over her elbows, tugging at seams here and there, doing her best to draw attention away from her own pink cheeks. “Thanks.  Any last-minute tips?”  

 

His weight shifted nervously;  she could possibly be considered notorious for her informality with peers and crew, but he wasn't sure where the lines lay, yet, and the last thing he wanted to do was to piss her off by prying.  “Have you … known many turians?”

 

“Can't say that I have.”  Even in civvies, she defaulted to a parade rest, finery and all, with an open expression of interest.  “Outside missions and favors, you're the only one I've talked to extensively.”  

 

“I see.”  His talons gestured vaguely as he weighed where to begin.  “Well, if nothing else, turians are military, and I'm sure you can handle that.  I might not know him _well,_ but…”  Vakarian's attention drifted over her again and nearly got stuck at her waist again, but he managed to wrench his attention to her face, the conservative makeup she'd applied, jewelry glinting about her neck and from her ears, and he gave her a reassuring flare. “Honestly, Commander, you'll do fine.  And if for some reason you don’t, call me, and I'll set him straight.”  

 

She placed a hand on his forearm and pinned him with a grateful look.  “Thanks, Garrus.”  

 

“Of course.”  

 

Ruth’s was as gloriously decadent in the dining area as it had seemed from the outside.  Sleek tech blended smoothly with marble and deep cherry wood, imported at great expense, she was sure.  Soft lighting emphasized open spaces and gentle music wove amongst quiet conversation and the faint tinkling of eatery.  Shepard relaxed into the private booth, drink in hand and appetite sated, and regarded her companion.

 

She'd seen turians in civilian fashions before, but never really up close;  Shepard wasn't about to oggle random merchants, and as far as she could tell Garrus slept in his CSEC blues.  But she was still surprised to see Chellick in a soft tunic suit -- turian fashion, of course, in deep jewel tones that only served to accent his bright colony brand.   _He cleans up nice._  “I have to admit, I wasn't sure I'd ever get to see this side of you.  You almost look _comfortable_ , Decian.”  

 

Chellick laughed gently in both octaves, and she didn't miss the delicious way it made her hair stand on end.  “You mean relaxed and enjoying myself?  I could say the same of you, _Megara_.”  He took a moment to finish his last bite and arrange the cutlery just so.  “I know you'll say it's classified, Spectre business.  But off the record, as friends:  can you tell me _anything_ about your last mission?  If what I'm hearing is true…”  

 

Even a human could read the anxiety radiating from his posture.  With a sigh, she frowned at her champagne.  “Too public.  Sorry.  But it can't be terribly far from the truth, because it's outlandish enough already.”  

 

“Spirits help us.”  He addressed a notification on his omnitool, flicking it off-screen with perhaps more ire than necessary.  “If …  If I'm right, the sheer _scale_ of what you're doing out there, it's --”

 

“Yup.”  Her eyes tracked a bubble as it bumped against the edge of the glass on its rise to the top before she downed the entirety, her mood suddenly soured.  “There's … a lot riding on this mission.  Galaxy, maybe.”  She grimaced.  “Sounds cheesy as hell, doesn't it?  Or arrogant.  But this is bigger than me, bigger than the _Alliance_ , and I don't even know if I can even _prove_ it yet.  All I know is that something about this is … old.”  Without bidding, she recalled the screaming birth of a husk, and shuddered.  “And really, really _wrong_.”  

 

Chellick raised his hand for the check.  _Shit, was it something I said?_   Before she could stumble through an attempt to save the evening, he headed her off.  “Let’s take this on the road.  I've _got_ to hear it.”  

 

Shepard exhaled, relieved, and gave him a tired smile. “Wasn't looking forward to shore leave getting cut short, there, Chell.  You sure you don't mind talking shop?”  

 

“Pardon me, Commander, but --”  Chellick paused from signing over the credits to the waiter’s terminal to make a show of tracing her curves with his gaze and earned himself a giggle in response. “ _Hell no_ , I don't mind.”  

 

Shepard filled him in as best she could, drink in hand as they rode to some as-yet unnamed destination courtesy of Chellick's personal autopilot program, and while he interjected some very good questions she couldn’t answer all of them;  he certainly seemed trustworthy, but some of the info would send civilians into a panic.  Sometimes it was.... nice, prudent even, to have a classification to hide behind.  
  
  
He landed his skycar manually and in silence, talons gripping the steering and mandibles tight to his face.  “ _Geth?_  You're shittin’ me, right?  Meg, tell me you're joking.”  

 

“That's not even the worst of it.”  She hadn't even _touched_ on the Beacon yet.  "Look, just ... don't repeat anything you haven't already heard on the news.  If you slip up, just yell 'Spectre business' and change the subject;  it always works for me."

 

“Damn.  I'm not so sure I _want_ to know, anymore.”  

 

"Probably for the best."  The Commander gestured at their view with a wry smile.  “ _I'd_ still like to know.  Where are we?  I didn't bring my gun.”

 

“Oh!”  The leathery skin under his jaw darkened in the shadows of the dash lights, she was fairly sure.   _Gettin’ pretty okay at reading turian body language, there, Meg_.  "You won't be needing a gun.  It's my apartment."

 

"I'm more used to, 'It's my apartment full of mercs, please make them leave?' That sort of thing." 

 

 _That_ certainly earned her a raised browplate.  “I realize I should have asked, first, but I need a drink after everything you _didn't_ tell me--”   _Who, me?  Never!_ she mimed at his good-natured glare, "--and I figured you weren't really a champagne kind of woman, anyways.”  Needle-teeth bared in both invitation and challenge as he offered her his hand, Shepard couldn't help but return the smile.  “Interested?”

 

“As long as you promise not to eat me, I'm game.”  She twined her fingers in his and he helped her rise from the car, his free hand reaching behind her to close the door.  

 

“No promises.”  His words strummed deep in her chest as he growled into her ear, a promise in itself, talons trailing across her lower back as he reluctantly stepped away to a respectful distance.  Shepard hid the elicited shiver by adjusting her shawl, shy smile pointed at the ground as her cheeks heated.  A long-forgotten thrill wound in her abdomen;   _Later._

 

Shepard was pleased to find that Decian remained a perfect gentleman, even as his pants seemingly began to fit less over the evening.  They _did_ share a few interests -- exchanged entire music libraries, at one point, laughing together over the outliers (“Nope, that's it.  Go back to your ship.  I'm not letting you put Expel 10 on my sound system!”) -- and he was easy to talk to, though after a few more bourbons possibly _too_ easy, she discovered.  

 

“They… look, I don't know the science.  No one does, and we _keep asking_ everywhere we go _._ Do you know how many scientists I've talked to?  So many scientists!  My _best_ guess is they take human corpses, leave them on these _spike_ things for a while,” the ice chinked in her glass on the side table, melting, forgotten as she tried to pantomime the Dragon’s Teeth for him, “and when they come down they glow and scream and _run_.  They try to _eat you_ , Chell.  I _hate_ those things.”

 

“I'm gonna call bullshit on that one.”  The turian reclined on the sofa beside her, and Shepard smiled as he leaned closer, arm stretched along the back of the cushions.   _Aww, he's trying to be slick.  Cute._ “Sorry, but zombies?  You've been in the Traverse too long.”

 

“You just wait.  I'll bring you a trophy next time.”  She was _definitely_ sober enough to play along, she decided.  Good, filling meal, and she was well below her limit, balance and vision were fine.   _But … christ, I knew I should have asked Joker for a vid.  Just to see._ She reached for her glass more as an excuse to shuffle a little closer than from real thirst.  “But if I do my job right, you might never have to see one.”  

 

“There goes your credibility.  Vakarian runs in your squad, now, right?  Has _he_ seen these things?”  Chellick laughed.  “Shit, what's he even like in the field?”  

 

The Commander took a swig of her bourbon soda, head shaking with a smirk.  “He’s probably killed as many of them as I have.  He’s a damn good shot, and the only one I trust on my six.  He keeps my ass above-ground, and keeps my head in one piece.”  She couldn’t help but compare the officer sitting beside her with the officer back on her ship;  the bone structure was there, the wry streak of humor, disdain for bureaucracy;  but as she looked over his clan markings, memorizing them, she found herself wishing it was Vakarian’s familiar blue instead of the striking silver.  “He’s a good man.”  

 

“I see.”  Decian considered her with those bright green eyes and quickly looked away, and she realized they’d _both_ picked up on the pheromones _that_ subject stirred.   _Oops._   _Might as well segue, then._

 

Shepard sighed, relaxing against his shoulder and crossing her knees;  he smoothly wrapped that long arm around her with only minor hesitation and draped his wrist over her shawl, a question thrumming in subharmonic octaves Shepard could barely register.  She smiled up at him.  “Did you _really_ bring me back to your apartment to ask me about the _other_ handsome turian I know?”  

 

His gaze jumped to hers in surprise, but she offered him a mirror of his earlier predatory gleam and he barked a short laugh.  “Ha!  _No_ , I most certainly did _not._ ”  In the span of but a few heartbeats he had pulled the Commander into his lap, his other hand relieving her of her drink.  She melted against his carapace, legs curled to either side of his hips and fingertips already dancing along his collar, and he _purred_.  “Probably my favorite thing about you, Meg.  You get right to the point.”  

 

The grin she gave him sent chills down his spine, adrenaline spiked, and _spirits_ his plates shifted.  “You talk too much.”

 

If she was honest -- and she _tried_ to be, dammit, most days -- she had no idea what she was doing, really, but if she knew a thing or two about a good lay, it was _touch the parts you never get to see_ and _kiss the spots you didn't know were there_ \-- like the soft spot just behind and under his mandible, and the cool skin there as she flicked it with her tongue and the _groan_ as he lifted his hips against hers.   _Good spot.  Remember that spot._ She quickly surmised that the soft, exposed leather in his cowl, on his neck, across his abdomen was a gold mine for reactions, and the Commander enthusiastically explored with gentle fingertips.  _Listening is important, too,_ she thought, and her hands followed his moans, chased his panting.  Her fingers had found their way beneath his fringe -- and oh, _god_ , the way he _growled_ when she scraped under it with her nails -- by the time he found his wits again.  “Have -- _damn_ , woman, have you had a turian before?”  

 

“Nope.”  She nuzzled his mandible, rolled her hips against his and giggled into his gasp.  Chellick’s talons gingerly unzipped her dress -- only fumbling twice;  _Good man!_ \-- baring skin to the cool air and he immediately slipped his hands inside, exploring the shallow valleys and subtle swells of her silhouette.  Shepard pressed a kiss to the plate of his cheek, her tongue darting to trace the curve of a lip, and his keening only made her want him _more_.  “Secret recipe.”  

 

He shuddered as she rode the now-prominent ridge between them, grinding her hips on his lap with only a few layers of thin cloth separating them.  “Oh?  Do tell.”  When his hands slid directly from the skin of her thighs up, _up_ past her hips under her dress and to her abdomen without interruption, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his talons, he grinned into her neck.  “ _Commando_ , Commander?  I don't think I know which of us is in the lead, anymore.”

 

Shepard gasped as he palmed her, shortest talon ( _thumb?_ ) seeking out and _finding_ \-- smooth and hard, the side rather than the point, _he knows what he's doing_ \-- gently stroking her clit in small, insistent circles, and a throaty moan escaped her.  “Y’know, I think you’re doing just _fine_.”  

 

His other hand tangled in her hair, short but feathery, _so soft_ , and Chellick shifted his hips under her, pushing the rhythm to a higher pitch.  He nuzzled her neck, scenting from habit and relishing in just _her_ smell, fresh and crisp.   _Fruit, maybe?  Something sweet._  “Humor me.”  The Commander’s fingertips fluttered at the hem of his tunic, looking for an in even as she nibbled gently behind his mandible -- _Spirits, if she doesn't stop, I'll --_

 

“I thought that's what I was doing?”  Her all-too-innocent tone was answered with a teasing growl, and he withdrew his hand, choosing instead to focus on her waist and the dress hiding it even as she whined at the absence of his talon.  Breasts bared, he wrapped his lithe tongue around a nipple and pulled her to his mouth;  the anatomy might not be his cup of tea, but the way her head fell back in ecstasy was _so_ worth it.  He wouldn't be able to remove the dress entirely without a little space between them, he realized with a frustrated grunt;  Shepard began to twist, sit back, hands fumbling in the fabric, but he brought her closer instead, pressed his face to the soft hollow behind her ear and drank in her scent.  _Orange? Maybe... berries?_

 

“It’s not shore leave if you're still doing all the _work_.”  Shifting tactics rather than admit defeat to her wardrobe, Chellick adjusted her thighs to his hip spurs and stood with her. Her many-tiny-pink fingers clutching his cowl as he strode easily from the living area into a dim room;  she had a brief moment to admire his taste in decor -- muted neutrals, minimalist doodads, sleek space and plush comfort -- before her back was pressing into the oversized pillows and Chellick was beside the bed, dragging his tunic up and over his crest.  

 

 _Good lighting_ , she decided, and she wasn't sure she'd remember again before she left so she sat up, knelt on the edge of the bed and caressed his carapace, fingers trailing the spaces between his plates, tracing the patterns as his shirt fell to the floor.  His eyes closed under her ministrations with a twin grumble deep in his throat.   _Not mind-blowing, but feels good, I think.  Noted, moving on._ “There are _lots_ of different ways to relax, Decian.”  The Commander unfolded from the bed and turned, guiding _him_ back onto the cushions with kisses and her body and gentle nudges, and they fell together, laughing with a bounce.  Shepard pressed her finger to his mouth plates before he could assert himself -- “Uh-uh, hot stuff, lemme try somethin’.” -- and scooted down the bed as she, in turn, pressed her lips to his mouth, his cowl, his keel, down and … down.  

 

“Shepard?”  He shuddered as she licked another hidden soft spot between his plating and the soft skin covering his waist, at the top of the curve.  She wouldn't move further down without permission, it seemed, and her restraint was appreciated, but -- “I am _increasingly_ sure that if you don't get my pants off _right now_ , I'm going to _die_.”

 

She hummed in satisfaction, tongue continuing its trail south without further delay, and her hands made quick work of the simple strip of leather keeping her from her prize;  it sprung free, rested heavily against her collarbone as she pushed his pants off the bed and nuzzled her cheek against his length, pressed a kiss to its base.  He keened, low and desperate, subharmonics crackling.  

 

“Anything I should know?”

 

“ _Spirits_ , is there anything you don't?” Chellick’s dual-vocals rasped and his talons twisted in the sheets, his hips thrusting to the sky on a groan as she grabbed his shaft in both hands and licked him from base to tip.

 

“Not yet,” she murmured into him, smiling as he shuddered beneath her fingers, slick with a clear substance he seemed to produce.   _Tingly, kinda like… mint.  Like a cold burn.  No real taste of its own, though, so that's cool.  Natural lubricant?_ Slight _analgesic, apparently, but it should be fine._ Satisfied with her test, Shepard pumped him with her fist as she sucked gently underneath, where the shaft met his plates, and she giggled when he bucked.   _Excellent spot, but strong.  Save that one for later._  There was another spot, just _there_ under the head, and she found that with her tongue quickly enough. And when she wrapped that tongue around him and sucked, licked, took him as deep as she could manage, that was an _entirely_ new noise he made.  

 

He tensed, stuttered, shuddered, and she realized he was nearly spent and slid him out of her mouth, kissing the tip for added flourish.  Decian slumped into the pillows, eyes closed.  “ _Megara._ That’s not _fair._ ”

 

Shepard smirked, running her tongue against the roof of her mouth and considering the numbed possibilities for another time;  their shared patience was strung tight and likely to snap, and she wanted him _inside_ her.  He seemed familiar enough in her hands, if a bit thicker than she was used to, a different color...  a bit extra curve in some parts, extra heft in others.   _Nothing scary, anyways._ _Doable, on my terms_ , she figured, and clambered up.  

 

Chellick’s eyes widened, roamed freely as she knelt over him and finally hauled her dress over her head, let it pile on the floor out of sight.  “You have a thing for turians, I'm guessing?”

 

“Nah, can't stand 'em.”  The hands that traced her curves, talons teasing the skin over her ribs leaving raised red trails in their wake, and the nipping humor in his voice had her biting her lower lip to hide her contented grin as he sat up, cowl to belly, and nuzzled her side.  One sharp, pointed finger gently caressed the outer swell of a freckled breast and she trembled.  “Not at _all.”_

 

Shepard wanted him so badly, his sheets would smell of her for a month.  Breathing deep, he realized he didn't mind in the slightest.

 

With some adjusting, he was comfortably propped to recline and the Commander straddled him, nestled his length between them.  She worked him with her hands, was grinding her hips against his cock.   _Spirits._  He waited, mandible pressed to her cheek, let her take the lead as he struggled to prevent himself from grabbing, holding tighter, and he pictured his talons piercing soft, pale skin -- _Hell, would she even mind?_   She held onto his cowl for balance, braced her knees aside his spurs.  In a sigh, she moved forward and then down and he was buried in her to the _hilt_ ; she was so _warm_ and for a moment he just held her, eyes closed.  Decian slid a finger down, always mindful of her soft skin, and added in those circles she loved and Shepard _clenched_ around him, cried out, gasped, writhed in his arms and he nearly lost his mind.

 

And then she _moved._  

 

Chellick had been with a couple humans before -- he'd never turn down a curious woman, he didn't think -- but Shepard was going to be the end of him, at this rate.  He should have expected she'd be as direct in her personal life as she appeared in the field, that she sets her eyes on a goal and smashes everything in her way -- _damn_ if she wasn't a hell of a leader -- and it was starting to look like he was going to drown while trying to keep up with a career soldier on leave. _This may have been a mistake. At least I'll die happy._   Decian let his hands roam freely, frequently returned to that particularly sensitive spot, had her whimpering, trembling for him in minutes.  She leveraged her weight with his cowl and pushed him back into his mound of pillows, forearm pinning him across the keel, her hips still moving on him moving _with_ him and he growled, pulled her against him, pushed as _deep_ into her as he could.  Shepard moaned his name, _his_ name, and as she pressed more fevered kisses to his mandibles he thrust into her again, again and again just to hear it one more time.   

 

She panted into his chest.  Her movements gradually became erratic as she rode his cock, her hips jerking as he met her thrust for thrust, as his tongue traced the shell of her ear;  he whispered encouragements in a deep, gentle language that wouldn't quite translate, praises and commands and demands and pleas, even promises she'd never understand and she trembled under him, _around_ him, begged him for more.  Her whimper nearly broke him then, but he refused, not until she -- “ _Decian!_ ”  Her undoing was his, and they peaked one after the other, her nails under his fringe and his talons in her hair and her body so _tight, so soft and wet_ \--

 

Shepard smiled, hips rolling into the afterglow as she indulged the last waves of his pleasure and Chellick nearly saw double _._  “Mm?  Too sensitive?”  He could only shiver in response, mandibles working even as his voice didn’t.  “Sorry.”  Shepard hummed as she let her weight fall to his side, snuggled against him with a leg still thrown over his.  Chellick pulled her close and pressed his flat nose into her hair, taking in her scent, trying to hold it deep, remember it. _Damn it, what_ is _that? Vanilla?_

 

“Do _not_ apologize.”  When he shivered again, she dragged the comforter over them both and he subbed his thanks.  “I -- Shepard, a night like this can get a happily-single man thinking about _bonds_.  I think you broke me.”

 

“Awww, Chell.”  She propped herself on one elbow to look at him, a tease on her lips but only mild concern in her eyes.  “I didn't know you were the sentimental type.”  

 

His talons nipped at her side and she wriggled.  “You know I'm not.  Honestly, I'm not looking for anything.  Or I wasn't, anyways.  I don't know.”  Plates furrowed, he looked down at her, and Shepard laughed.  “Damn it, woman.”  

 

“I've ruined you, Chellick, I’m sorry.”  The Commander laid her cheek on his keel with an affectionate pat to his stomach.  “Trust me, _hot stuff_.  You'll make someone very happy, someday.”  

 

His sigh was resigned underneath, but mostly relieved.  Mostly.  “I take it that won't be you, then?”

 

“No guarantees.  But right now, I'm focused on work.  That's not going to change any time soon.”  He tapped a talon on her shoulder in understanding and she hugged him a little tighter.  “You're a great guy, Chell.  I'm just not huge on staying in one place, and, y’know, there’s... saving the galaxy.  That takes up a lot of my spare time.”  

 

“It's alright, I can take it.  I'm a big boy now, Shepard.”  She rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder, and Chellick laughed.  “But seriously, you're a _hell_ of a woman.  You ever change your mind, you give me a call.”  The Commander settled against him, shoving him just a _little_ for that one;  he could only chuckle.  “Get some rest, half-pint.  You're on breakfast duty.”

 

***

 

The last person she wanted to run into before she had at _least_ two rinses was Garrus Vakarian -- O Alien King of Supreme Sense of Smell -- and was, of course, the _very first_ person she ran into before she could snag the showers on the crew deck.   _Someday, I'll have a nice big ship with my own shower.  And a lock._  

 

“Good morn --”  His nose scrunched as the pheromones hit him and she winced in sympathy.  “...well, _good_ _morning_ it is, then.”  

 

“Sorry, Garrus, I -- tried.”  She gestured at the shower with a helpless wave.  

 

“Not at all, Commander.  I'm glad you had a good time.”  There was no way to be sure, but the way his left plate twitched she _thought_ he was trying to hide a grin and losing.  “How was… ah, Ruth’s?”  

 

“Fantastic, actually.  I have no idea what I ate, but I'm _reasonably_ sure the dessert had chocolate in it.”  The Commander began removing her jewelry, dropping little bits of metal in a cup by the sink.  “Ever been?”

 

“Me?  No.  It was a bit above my pay grade, the last time I -- well, the last time I thought about it, anyways.”   _There he goes again,_ Shepard smiled to herself as she eyed his darkening neck.  

 

“Tell you what, big guy.  We take down Saren, and after all the parties and what I'm _sure_ will be awards and commendations by the _truckload_ ...”  The Commander sauntered over to him, mirrored his pose, even, as she folded her arms and rest a shoulder on the wall.  She looked up at him with those mischievous eyes and _satisfaction_ wafted from her -- _I can smell her pleasure, then_ and _now.  She smells like_ him _but under it -- damn, she smells good.  And there goes the fucking blush_.  “I’ll take you to Ruth’s.  Just you and me.  Deal?”  

 

 _Well, I'll be damned._  “I think I'd like that, Shepard.”  

 

She smiled, big and giddy, and nudged him.  “ _Out._  Wrex’ll never leave me alone, and Tali will be _scandalized_.  I _need_ a shower.”  

 

Her omnitool pinged during her second lather, and purely from spite she made it wait until she was done rinsing.  

 

_Meg,_

 

_I see you successfully dodged breakfast.  Such a shame;  I make great omelets._

 

_Keep me updated.  Stay safe.  If you ever need anything, call me._

 

_-Dec_

 

Shepard couldn't help but smile -- and then promptly groaned into the shower spray when she realized she _completely_ forgot to do _any_ of her errands. 

 

The message he sent Garrus shortly after, however, was certainly much less affectionate, but no less familiar.

 

_Vakarian,_

 

_Get your head out of your ass._

 

_-Chellick_

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this will probably continue to be tweaked until I'm happy with the rhythms and pacing, and then again when I fix the weird mistakes that happen when I play with rhythms and pacing.


End file.
